Shirt Lifter
by FrickinHell
Summary: Chapter three, especially for you! “I end up sprawled on my back with one of my feet tucked up and trapped painfully beneath me.” Draco POV. SLASH.
1. Chapter One

Author: Frick (inHell)  
  
Title: Shirt Lifter  
  
Summary: "I resent that. I have never lifted a shirt before in my life ... Except my own, but that doesn't count." Draco POV. SLASH.  
  
Rating: PG-15  
  
Disclaimer: Number of HP characters in my possession: 0. Amount of money earned by the following story: £0.00.  
  
WARNING: This story is, like, slash, as in boy/boy. If you have any, like, concerns or whatever, about reading such material, please go elsewhere. Now I'm not, like, responsible.  
  
* * * *  
  
"Alright then," I say briskly to the nervous sixth year. "You get twenty five Galleons, and that's only if you do a decent job."  
  
I start undoing my belt buckle, and he glances around the dusty store room uneasily.   
  
"Do you – er… have you done this before?" He stutters anxiously.  
  
I smirk. "Of course. Why, haven't you?"  
  
He shakes his head, a bit regretfully. "No. I mean, I always _wanted_ to, I just didn't – I thought I was the only…" He trails off at my bored expression. "Never mind."  
  
I found him, this closet-case Hufflepuff, checking me out in the library. His name is – well, it's… okay, so I don't remember, but what does it matter? He definitely knows mine. Nobody forgets Draco Malfoy. Of course, I'm planning on Memory Charming him after we've done this, so I don't know.  
  
"So, er…" He kind of half crouches. "Shall we start?"  
  
"Right." I unzip my trousers, wishing I'd chosen someone… _not_ blonde. But the pickings are incredibly slim at Hogwarts, and I've gone though just about everyone of age in this school with even the _slightest_ homosexual tendencies.  
  
When he starts, I lean onto the shelf behind me, gripping it for support. He's definitely a natural, I think, leaning my head back. I listen to the slick sounds, my own deep breathing and – footsteps? Shit!  
  
No, no. Don't panic. It's fine, they've gone past. It's fine. Relax, I tell myself. Hmm, _relaaax_…  
  
I'm right on the brink of an orgasm when the door definitely does click, and I panic and kick the Hufflepuff off me. I turn and pull up my trousers so hastily that I elbow several jars and buckets off the shelf.  
  
"Martin? _Malfoy?"_ Comes an incredulous voice.  
  
Oh no. Please don't tell me…  
  
It can't be –  
  
It's Potter. Looking bemused, with his hand still clutching the doorknob. I start fishing around in my robes.  
  
"Harry!" Cries Martin in surprise. He covers his face in shame. "Oh, no – please Harry, please don't tell anyone! I'd just die!"  
  
"No… I'm just going to…" Potter gulps, his eyes still wide. "Er – go."  
  
"Stop!" I yell, pointing my wand in Potter's direction with the incantation on my lips, but he just lets out a yelp and slams the door quickly.  
  
I rush out after him, but Martin grabs my sleeve.  
  
"Malfoy, you can't do magic on another student! It's against the-"  
  
His face slackens as my spell hits him, and I dash out into the corridor.  
  
I say _"Obliviate!"_ again, but it misses him as he skids sharply round the corner. Oh, fuck. The spell hits a suit of armour, and it goes tumbling and crashing loudly to the floor.  
  
"What on earth…" Martin comes out of the store room, looking disorientated. His face tightens into a frown as he sees me, like it did in the library. Well, at least the spell worked. I suppose that's one thing.  
  
"Malfoy? Did you do that?" He points behind me.  
  
"Of course I didn't." I snap. "Potter did."  
  
I hear him jump to Potter's defence, but I don't listen. I just take off at a stride down the corridor.  
  
After remembering I don't actually know where the Gryffindor common room is, I sigh in frustration. Then I spend ages searching the area, with one aim: Blast Potter's Memory right out of his abnormally large head. I don't care if I send the nosy little bastard into a coma, because if he lives to tell anyone what he's seen...  
  
I curse myself bitterly. I definitely should not have been so careless. I could have locked the door, or picked in a more unfrequented storage cupboard. In fact, I shouldn't have even given in to the temptation in the first place. But sometimes I just get really sick of Pansy's clammy hand jobs.  
  
After a while I'm just wandering around uselessly, imagining the looks on everyone's face when they find out I'm gay. I've never been faced with that kind of ridicule before, at least not on such a grand scale, I don't think I can handle it. Oh, dear. I'm going to be shunned from Slytherin, aren't I? I'm going to be forced to live out the rest of my time at Hogwarts in seclusion, because as soon as people see me they're going to start throwing rotten tomatoes, which they'll keep in separate bags than their school ones so their stuff doesn't go all mouldy...  
  
Because I'm so wrapped up in my own thoughts, I bump right into Pansy as she's coming out of a girl's bathroom.  
  
"Oh, Draco, hi!" She says, sounding pleased. "You came looking for me, how sweet!"  
  
I put on my most charming smile. "Of course I did." I say, as if there's nothing else I'd rather do.  
  
But I'm still itching to find Potter before he can tell the entire school.  
  
She suddenly starts giving me this odd look. I wonder why..? I can never-  
  
Oh yes! It means she wants us to- oh no. Not again.  
  
But I step forward and kiss her anyway, and she puts her hands on the sides of my face. I hope that's _water_ she's all wet with. Ugh, I just grossed myself out. But still. It's all part of the being straight act, isn't it? I don't have much choice.  
  
Well, I think bitterly, as she puts her hands inside my robes, when she dumps me after she finds out, I'll be able to act as gay as I like. I mean, there are obviously quite a lot of gay people in Hogwarts, aren't there? And some of them aren't too bad. Maybe if everybody knows, I'll get a lot more action. Obviously, I'll get a lot more shunned, too.  
  
No. They can't. They can't find out. Nobody can find out, I won't be able to live it down. People just aren't tolerant of homosexuals, are they? Well, not people that matter. Snape... all the Slytherins... and all the other Houses hate me anyway, don't they? They'd jump at any chance to belittle me. I'd rather die than let this secret out. No, ignore that, I wouldn't _die_. I'd kill, though. In a heartbeat.  
  
"What do you keep looking around for?" Pansy says, as we walk back down to the dungeons.  
  
It's because I'm still craning my neck, looking, just in case Potter's decided to hang about around _other_ store rooms. Maybe it's his favourite pastime, I don't know. The hand that Pansy isn't holding on to is clutched around my wand, to whip it out in a flash if I spot him.  
  
"Well... what?" She nudges me.  
  
"Oh... er." I'm too distracted to think up a lie. "Nothing."  
  
See, that just goes to show how badly I'm traumatised by all this! I can't even lie, for Pete's sake! Me, Draco _"lying scumbag"_ Malfoy! It's not fair!  
  
"Anyway, do you know where those brainless Gryffindors live?" I say, in a horrible forced-casual kind of way.  
  
Pansy shrugs. "Dunno. Seventh floor?"  
  
Bloody hell. The Seventh floor. That's where I was – where we – well... that's where the store room is. No wonder Potter was there. Their common room is probably right next door; maybe I'm just lucky his whole bleeding House didn't walk in on us.  
  
* * * *  
  
Back at our common room, all Pansy wants to do is sit on my knee and make kissy faces. All this means to me is that any residual desire left from that Hufflepuff's unfinished blowjob is absolutely gone.  
  
"Draco..." Pansy whispers, leaning her forehead against my own. "I really think tonight should be the night we... you know, for the first time."  
  
Oh, crap... I can't say no, now, we've been going out for nearly six months. She'll _know_ I'm gay if I refuse. I should have seen this coming. Of course the next steps coming up. Now, watch me stub my toe on it.  
  
Pansy is... well, she's quite... she's not – okay. She's not as slim and toned as her robes make her look, let's put it that way. She's not fat, not at all, just a bit... jiggly.  
  
Needless to say, I keep my eyes closed throughout the whole thing. I also make the entirely wrong assumption that, if I concentrate enough, I can imagine I'm doing it with someone else. But of course, Martin the Hufflepuff wouldn't press his breasts against me in a very disgusting way.   
  
Afterwards, we are uncomfortably stuck together, and she's drifting off to sleep. I wait until she's snoring, then peel myself off her and take a very, _very_ long shower.  
  
Damn Potter. This is all his fault. Hopefully, though, "Draco can't be gay, I had sex with him last night" holds more water than "I think I saw Malfoy getting oral sex off a guy". Hopefully.  
  
If not – what could I possibly do? Would my father let me drop out? I doubt it... he'd probably wash his hands of me altogether. I'd have to start working like a Muggle for a living, as some Assistants assistant at the Ministry, and I'll never get promoted, because everyone knows my secret, and the only reason I'm not fired is because everyone's still secretly afraid of my father...  
  
It's going to be dreadful.  
  
After my shower, I put some pyjamas on (I don't care about the heat, the less skin to skin contact I have with Pansy the better) and climb back into bed.  
  
An hour later, Greg, Vince and Blaise creep up and start whispering.  
  
"Is Pansy in his bed? I heard Baddock say he saw them come up together... go on, Vince, check."  
  
"No way, she'd kill me! Greg, you check."  
  
"Hold on..." Footsteps get closer to my bed. I squeeze my eyes shut. "What if they're still awake? What if they're..." His voice drops even more, "_doing it?"_  
  
_"Shhh!_ I just heard him!" Hisses Blaise, and I hear them all scramble quickly into their beds.  
  
I almost laugh. But I can't even summon a smile.  
  
* * * *  
  
The next day I have Herbology, and there's a light fog around the castle and grounds. At breakfast, I was keeping my ears pricked and my eyes peeled for any signs of rumour-spreading around my table. Every time someone said _"did you hear_..?", I snapped to attention, and only relaxed when it was followed by "that's not Irene's real nose" or "N'Chant are splitting up".  
  
I only picked Herbology because Snape made me. Well, he didn't _make_ me; he just didn't give me many other options. At our careers interview, I kind of mentioned I might possibly think about wanting to go into a teaching career, and he said I wouldn't even be considered for a job unless I had a NEWT in an outside lesson. The only other outside lesson Hogwarts offers is Care of Magical Creatures. And when I tried to enquire about other careers he ended the meeting abruptly and walked out.  
  
So, here I am, the only Slytherin, in a greenhouse full of nature freaks. Learning about plants, and fertilizer.  
  
Afterwards, I trudge back into the castle, muddy and sweating, carrying a large plant that I've just re-potted. The homework is to figure out what it is, and how to keep it alive. As soon as I'm out of Sprout's sight, I dump it and get out my wand to levitate it.  
  
"I heard a rumour about you, Malfoy," comes a voice behind me, and my heart stops.  
  
This is it, it's happening, right now. I should have prepared for this, done some stretches, or something.  
  
"What rumour?" I say, trying to sound savage. It comes out a bit squeaky.  
  
Wayne Hopkins walks right past me, smirking, as he speaks. "I heard you're crap in bed."  
  
My mouth drops open in horror, and for a split second I think my Memory Charm on that Hufflepuff didn't work after all. No, that's stupid. This must be Pansy's doing. I should have known. She was gone before I woke up, and she wasn't at breakfast. I didn't really miss her.  
  
But now, now I will _kill _her. They will never find her body.  
  
Why would she say something like that? If I was crap last night, it's only because _she_ repulsed me! I can't believe... she's such a... a heartless... evil... how dare she!  
  
When I get back to my dorm, I start pacing, trying to work out the knot of frustration in my stomach. I can't believe it... after all I went through, I'm getting humiliating things spread about me anyway! This, on top of what Potter's going to tell everybody, is going to ruin me. I'll be a laughing stock. This is too much, I can't deal with this...  
  
No. Yes I can. If Pansy thinks she can get away with this... she's got another think coming. I am _so_ going to get my revenge. But what would embarrass her most of all?  
  
Actually, forget embarrassment, I am going to destroy her soul.  
  
Okay, maybe not her soul. I'm not _that_ good. Let's go for her reputation. And I have the perfect plan. All I need to do is take a quick trip to the Owlery. I don't want to go to dinner anyway, not if the hot topic is my sexual prowess. Or... lack thereof.  
  
So, I write The Perfect Letter of Revenge, seal it professionally, and head up there. I call down my Black and White Owl, which I got for Christmas. It's so much better than my old one. Whatever happened to him...? I give it the letter and its instructions, and it flies up to the top of the tower, out of sight.  
  
I feel slightly appeased as I leave the Owlery. I'm such a genius when it comes to revenge, like that time when-  
  
As if this stupid day couldn't get any worse, I spot Potter down the corridor and try to quickly duck back round the corner.  
  
"Malfoy?" He says, obviously surprised at my behaviour.  
  
I step out to face him, arranging my face into a scowl. He looks faintly amused.  
  
"You're... gay, aren't you?" He says.  
  
Let's all just state the bloody obvious.  
  
"Shut up." I snap. "No I'm not."  
  
Like I'm going to admit it. He could be recording this conversation for evidence for all I know.  
  
"Yeah right," he grins evilly, "so what _was_ Martin Silverman doing down there? Buffing your shoes?"  
  
"Shut up!" I say again, louder. "I'm going to deny it, you know, everyone's going to think – I mean, they're just going to _know_ that you're spreading lies."  
  
I think I covered that one pretty well. And I spoke loudly, too, in case anyone was listening.  
  
But he just looks like he's going to burst out laughing, and that makes me want to strangle him. I step forward threateningly.  
  
"_Whoa_!" Potter steps back, and puts his palms up, "You're not going to _kiss me_, are you?" He taunts. "I know what you shirt lifters are like, and I don't swing that way."  
  
"I'll swing _you,_ you son of a bitch!" I snarl, reaching out to throttle him.  
  
He catches my hands. "And even if I did," he mocks, as we grapple, "I heard you're a crap lay anyway – so the answers still... _no_!"  
  
He punctuates the last word by pushing me hard. I stumble backwards and fall, hitting my tailbone sharply on the flagstones.  
  
I give a yelp of pain and surprise, and Potter walks off, calling over his shoulder.  
  
"Anyway, I've not told anyone yet," he laughs, "I'd rather blackmail you first."  
  
* * * *  
  
A/N: And thus ends chapter one. Do come back for the next one, won't you? A review would be absolutely splendid, thanks!  
  



	2. Chapter Two

Author: Frick (inHell)

Title: Shirt Lifter

Summary: Chapter two is posted! "I wanted to go straight up to my room to check out the damage Potter had done to my poor, hurting bum," Draco POV. SLASH.

Rating: PG-15

Disclaimer: Number of HP characters in my possession: 0. Amount of money earned by the following story: £0.00.

WARNING: Slash slash slash slash slash slash. See? That's one word that'll never lose its meaning.

Notes: Hey! I have an account at deviantART now! The link's in my profile, and I'd SO love to hear what you think of my HP drawings!

And another thing, I just realised, when I uploaded the last chapter, all the italics were stripped from it *embarrassed*, so I just replaced the chapter and put them back in.

* * * *

Oh no. This can't be happening! This can not be happening! ... Oh crap oh crap oh crap! Maybe, if I burrow my face far enough into my pillow, I'll come through the other side and find out this was all a horrible, twisted nightmare. Either that or I'll run out of air and pass out. Both work for me.

            He can't do this. How can he do this? He goes on and on about how everything has to be right and _not_ horrifically evil in the world, then what does he go and do? Turns around and blackmails a person as soon as he finds out _one_ little secret about them! And Pansy, don't even get me started on her. We've been going out _forever_, and just because I failed to satisfy her sexual needs that _one time_, she thinks she has the right to run off and tell the whole school!

            Of course we argued about that, last night, after I got back to the common room. I wanted to go straight up to my room to check out the damage Potter had done to my poor, hurting bum, but there she was, standing around – _laughing_ – with her stupid friends. I just saw red. I marched right over there and let rip. Verbally, I mean.

            You know what she did? Instead of being terrified by my manly rage, she made a crack at my expense!

            "Quiet down, Draco," she said, scathingly, "if your voice doesn't break soon, people might start to think you're _queer!_"

            I think I deflected it pretty well, though. "Shut up!" I said, my voice a couple of notches deeper. "You can't prove anything!"

            Then I stormed off, and I only went a teeny bit red, so I don't think anyone suspected.

            So, here I am, in my dorm. I'm not hiding, really, it's just that, well, the need hasn't arisen yet, for me to have to... okay, so I'm hiding. In truth, I'm actually quite frightened of Pansy. And women in general. I can't possibly think why. But hopefully, my Perfect Revenge Plan ™ will turn the gossip away from my incompetence with women and I will finally be able to see the light of day again without wanting to curl up and die. That'll show her.

            The next day feels as if it's going to be a positive one as soon as I open my eyes. My wand, which I sleep with on my bed (I have this thing about the dark), hasn't  wedged itself up my nose during the night, and I didn't  have that recurring nightmare where I'm being chased up a hill by a group of angry girls who are trying to steal my shoes.

            I have to go down to breakfast today, obviously, to execute my Perfect Revenge Plan ™. And to show everybody that I'm not affected by all the conspiracies that are being plotted against me. And because if I miss one more meal I'm going to pass out. While I'm cutting up my toast into perfectly equal sized squares, I make sure to keep my head down. It will look way too suspicious if I look like I'm expecting anything.

            The next moment, I cry out as what feels like the sharp corner of a package hits me right on the top of the head. Oh yes. Mother always sends my packages on Tuesdays. So, feeling foolish, I shoo her blasted bird away from my toast. It gives me an indignant look with its creepy, beady eyes, and flies off. I put the package aside as The Letter drops in my lap. The package can wait.

            I read my perfectly imitated father's handwriting.

_Dear Draco_

_Following our discussion in the fireplace three nights ago concerning Miss Pansy Parkinson, the spy for Dumbledore in your midst, I hope you have done everything you can (and I mean **everything**) to sever the link between you two. Even if it means **physically making her** break up with you. Now I am allowing you to tell your classmates of the plan, so they can begin severing their own links with the disgusting blood traitor._

_From your father, Lucius Malfoy._

            I even signed it, with a well-practised copy of his signature. How else do you think I'm allowed to go to Hogsmeade?

            I pass the note across the table to Blaise, who reads it with his mouth wide open. I smirk at him, because he was one of the ones with the most wisecracks.

            "So, you mean, you, in bed..." He says, still staring at the paper. "That was all... pretend?"

            I nod smugly.

            "And..." He sneaks a sideways glance at Pansy, and lowers his voice. "She's really...?"

            I nod again. "You'd better stay away from her, too, if you know what's good for you."

            All the Slytherins believe my story, and one by one they skootch away from Pansy as if I've just announced she has Mad Cow Disease. This means I can finally relax for a while. That is, until I spot Potter's big head in the crowd as I'm going back to the dungeons. 

      I almost forgot. He's going to _blackmail_  me. What the hell does that mean, anyway? No, I know what it means, I'm not stupid. I just don't know what it means to Potter. What will he want from me? For all I know, he could demand that I... I don't know; dance around like a spastic Mooncalf at lunch! Or... or something even more depraved! What if he asks me to _apologise_  to all his saddo friends? Am I prepared to make that sacrifice?

            However depressing it may sound, I probably am. I don't have much choice, do I?

      Ugh, the things I do for my reputation. Of course it's worth it, though, in the end. I mean, I just got my dignity _back;_  I can hardly afford to lose it again. And obviously, if I do have to apologise to them, I don't have to actually mean it.

      During the course of the day, I come up with a plan. Potter wants to blackmail me, right? And what do you have to do to blackmail someone? That's right! Be alone with them! So, my exceptionally large brain figures that, hey, if I just don't go anywhere alone, then he can't get at me! Aren't I ingenious?

      This appears to be a lot more difficult than originally anticipated, however. None of my lessons are with Greg and Vince (they opted for more "practical" subjects, whereas I prefer the lessons with "the minimum amount of movement possible"), and it is entirely below me to latch onto anyone else. But I do anyway, because I'm desperate. On the plus side, I see Potter several times, and by promptly engaging the closest person to me in conversation, I successfully manage to stop him approaching me.

            That's the good news. The bad news is, the closest person to me is often someone who hates me as much as I hate them.

            "Piss off, Malfoy."

            "Eat dung, Malfoy, you twat."

            "Why on earth would I care about being able to calculate the mass of the universe, Malfoy?"

            Are amongst the range of varied and _colourful_  answers I receive, thankfully, out of Potter's earshot.

* * * *

That evening, I sit around with my classmates, inwardly smug at seeing Pansy sitting across the room all by herself. She's tried making conversation with several people already, but they all hastily end it and scurry off. It's funny, because she has no idea why she's being avoided.

            "Draco, are you playing?" Sally-Anne is saying to me.

            I shake my head. It's pointless, really. I always win. It gets enormously boring after a while. I do like to think they let me beat them, you know, out of respect, but maybe Go Fish just isn't their game. After a long while, I know just about where very single pair of matching cards is on the floor, and I seem to be the only one that does.

            I'm suddenly hit square between the eyes by something cream-coloured and very pointy. Picking it back up off the floor, I see it's a paper aeroplane. I look around suspiciously, because at times like this, you just have to suspect everyone. I unfold the aeroplane quite angrily, just in case there's a name on it or something. There isn't, but there is a note. Which I suppose is better.

_You've been avoiding me all day, Malfoy. Are you **scared** of me?_

       Oh har har. It's not signed, but it's obviously from Potter. Either that or someone is playing a horrible, slightly scary, trick on me. No. I doubt that. I mean, who else have I been avoiding? Well, there's Pansy, but I'm sure she _knows_ I'm scared of her, so she'd have no reason to ask.

       So I pick up a quill from the nearest table, turn the parchment over and write 'terrified'. I re-fold it and send it on its way with a quick spell. Hopefully Potter gets the sarcasm. Should I have put 'oh, I'm terrified', instead of just one word? Or 'Oh, I'm shaking in my boots'? Shit... now look! Potter's even making me _doubt my own sarcasm skills!_ It's absurd!

            Around about fifteen minutes later, it comes back. I know it's the same one, because thanks to the shabby job I did of re-folding it, it now looks more like a scrunched up piece of parchment.

_I know you know how blackmail works, so get up to the seventh floor sharpish, or I'm telling._ __

            Oh damn. Like I have nothing better to do.

            The seventh floor... I don't know if you knew this, but it's a long way. A long way in the upward direction. As in never-ending stairs. I'm only on the fifth floor here, and I'm already puffing like an asthmatic flobberworm. By the sixth floor, I'm knackered, and by the seventh, I'm wheezing horribly and my knees are on the verge of giving out. No wonder all the Gryffindor girls have calves like tree trunks, doing that every day...

            I crawl up the last few steps, and then proceed with trying to massage away my excruciating stomach cramps. This is not how I want to face him. I would much prefer to be standing up, straight and tall, and looking like that's a drop in the ocean compared to how many stairs _I've_ mastered. But even I'm not _that _good an actor.

            Then Potter appears from round the corner, and he grins. "Malfoy, you look like a first year." He mocks.

            "_So... many... stairs_... " I breathe out.

            Instead of agreeing, or possibly offering to help re-inflate my lungs, he just laughs. What a  bastard! I mean, there's a fine line between healthy, harmless evil, and pure sadism, and he's just crossed it.

            After I've caught my breath, I glower at him. "What do you want from me, then? Money? Favours?" I look at his clothes. "Fashion tips?"

            "No." He says, frowning.

            "Well what then? I do have better things to do with my time, you know."

            "Oh really. Like what?" He challenges.

            Quick, I tell myself, make something up! "It's... it's... uh..." I fumble. "It's bath night."

            He now looks on the verge of bursting into hysterical laughter.

"Oh yes," he deadpans, pushing his glasses up his nose, "you must be terribly inconvenienced by all this."

"Shut up. Can you hurry up and blackmail me already?" I say, getting antsy, and wanting this over with.

"Right." He says, a grin creeping onto his face. "I want you to tell me another one of your secrets."

· * * *

A/N: Gasp! A cliff-hanger! Who'd a thunk it! Will Draco bend to Potter's evil demands? Or does he have a plan up his sleeve? Tune in next time to find out! (And, while you're tuning, could you please take time to visit my deviantart account?)

Bye for now!


	3. Chapter Three

Author: Frick (inHell)

Title: Shirt Lifter

Summary: Chapter three, especially for you! "I end up sprawled on my back with one of my feet tucked up and trapped painfully beneath me." Draco POV. SLASH.

Rating: PG-15

Disclaimer: Number of HP characters in my possession: 0. Amount of money earned by the following story: £0.00.

WARNING: Slash slash slash slash slash slash. See? That's one word that'll never lose its meaning.

Notes: Hey! No offence to fanfiction.net, but bloody hell. I got about 80 copies of the same review in my inbox. I was all like 'hey, look how popular my story... oh no. never mind'. Really hurt my feelings, that did. Not that I'm not grateful for everyone else's reviews, because I am! You're all so lovely! Thank you all, and please, review again! I find they are quite addictive, however weird that sounds.

* * * *

            No. No way. _No bloody freaking way._

            "No way." I say faintly. I feel my face heating up (with rage or humiliation I'm not yet sure). "There's no way..."

            How could I have not guessed he was going to do something like this? Potter is a crazy freak, and I should have anticipated he'd do something completely off the bloody wall! It's like... if I give him another secret, he's got more ammunition to blackmail me in the future! It would be like – like sharpening the blade for my own execution! But if I _don't_ tell him anything, the whole school will know I'm gay within the week! Which is like – having a weak, dull blade for my execution, and having it hack my head off slowly and painfully!

            I need to think of a way out of this. Okay, I can do this... I've thought my way out of life-threatening situations before. I just need a plan.

            I know! I need a diversion! I could... I could... burst into tears? No, stupid! How could him thinking I'm a pathetic wuss _help_ the situation? I've got to think... think think think.

            Then it hits me.  I can pretend to black out! See, if I'm unconscious, I won't have to tell him anything! At least for now. So, to make it seem real, I put my hand to my forehead and sway nauseously for a bit ... Now what? Do I just fall flat, or do I kind of sink, then fall? Well, whatever I do, I'm probably going to bump my head pretty hard on the floor anyway, so I might as well get on with it.

            I let out a very woeful sounding sigh, and just kind of... keel over. Ow, my elbow.

            "Malfoy?" Potter says, "what are you _doing_?"

            I end up sprawled on my back with one of my feet tucked up and trapped painfully beneath me. But I can't move it or else he'll know I'm lying.

            I hear Potter step nearer to me, and he suddenly starts prodding me in the side with his foot. "Malfoy, you are the_ worst_ fainter in the world."

            I call his bluff, and try to keep my face as passed out-like as possible. It's very difficult, because for absolutely no reason, I feel like laughing.

            "I know you're faking it..." He says, but I detect a trace of insecurity in his voice. There is a long, drawn out silence. What is he doing? Is he just standing there looking at me? He wants to catch me out, doesn't he? Well, I'm way sneakier than he is...

            "I'm going, then. You can lay there all you like..." He says, in a suit-yourself kind of way.

            I hear his receding footsteps. Once they've trailed off, I snap my eyes open. Ouch, I have pins and needles in my leg. So I sit up, and start rubbing my calf. I'm quite pleased actually, that went rather—

            "Aha!"

            I let out a tiny shriek and jump as Potter leaps out, pointing triumphantly at me. Oh great, I think, sitting on the floor like an embarrassed pillock, clutching my leg. Just great.

            "I _knew_ you were faking it." He says, with a proud smirk. Oh yes, let's all praise and bow down to the genius Harry Potter for being able to tell whether a person is fainting for real or just trying to get out of being blackmailed. 

"Now, no more stupidity. Spill."

            I curse Potter's annoying smirk as I stand up, and dust myself off with as much dignity as I can muster. I swear, now I know what it feels like, I will never blackmail anybody ever again. And he's totally ruined smirking for me now.

            "Fine." I bite out, through clenched teeth. "Fine."

            Okay... what are my secrets? What's my least embarrassing one? One that I wouldn't really care if anyone found out about...

            "Okay," I clear my throat, and take a breath. I hold it for a moment, suddenly filled with nervous tension. "I've got... mybellybuttonpierced."

            Potter expression goes from dawning comprehension to complete revulsion in a split second.

            "Urch!" he says, or something like that. "You _pierced_ it?" his eyes flick down to my waist. "That's revolting..."

            "Well _I_ think it's attractive." I snap, feeling a sting of pride.

            Potter still has a very disgusted look on his face. 

            "... Can I see it?"

            "No!" I cry, jumping backwards in horror.

            "No – of course not!" He says, looking shocked at himself. "That just—I don't know why—that's one thing I_ never_— no. Forget I said anything..." He trails off, and walks away, quite dazedly, with his hand to his forehead in a manner that suggests he would very much like to banish whatever images he has in there. See? I told you he was a weirdo.

            I _do_ kind of wish I could have shown him, though. No, not him personally, but people in general. I would love to be able to show it off. It's a diamond, you see, and it was very expensive. And painful. But obviously I can't. Only _girls_ get their belly buttons pierced, everyone knows that.

            Anyway, I go back down to the dungeons, thinking that definitely could have gone a lot worse. I mean, I could be jumping around in a giant ferret suit right about now! But, thanks to my cool skills as a negotiator (and only a _tiny_ bit of pure luck), I managed to get off relatively lightly. I stroll into my dormitory, feeling quite chuffed with myself.

            "Where've you been, Draco? We looked for you." Vince says, his deep bass voice just the reality slap I need. What am I _thinking_, being happy with myself! I've just spent the past forty five minutes being _blackmailed_ by Harry sodding Potter! It was _torture_, and I am definitely not pleased about anything!

            "You've been out with your new girlfriend, haven't you?" Blaise nods in my direction. "At least I assume so; I saw you getting those notes – and judging by the way you ran out, I'd say you really fancy her..."

            Well, I'd rather have him think that than know the truth. "Of course! Now that I'm free from Pansy, I've got girls falling at my feet..."

            Okay, maybe that was a bit over the top, but they still believe me. I mean, why wouldn't they? I'm rich, powerful, and I suppose, in the right light, I could be considered attractive. If my nose wasn't so pointy, or the top of my head wasn't so flat. Or my legs weren't so skinny.

* * * *

            The next day passes by quite quickly, but I still can't help feeling paranoid that Potter's going to tell someone, like Weasley or Granger, because they're his best friends. Potter himself might be content to make my suffering as drawn out and mentally-scarring as possible, but I can vividly picture myself as Weasley's own personal footstool. No! I swear, I don't care how much he threatens, I am _not_ letting his big, shabby feet anywhere near my back. That's where I am drawing the line.

            But I don't know. Something inside me, a little voice or niggling feeling or something, it's telling me Potter won't tell anybody. It's telling me, in a very annoying way, to _trust him_. Hah. I've never liked that niggly feeling. That's the feeling that told me to give in and go up to Martin Silverman in the library. It's an evil and treacherous sensation, and I hate it.

            I go back to my dormitory after my lessons, like I usually do, but this time I suffer the worst shock of my entire life as I step inside.

            My beautiful room! ... It's a pigsty ... mess ... everywhere! ... My space ... my school trunk_ ..._ it's been _touched_, and _rooted through_, and _gutted_, by hands that aren't mine! Grubby, filthy hands!

            I clutch my chest, feeling hyperventilations coming on. Who would possibly do this...? Everyone knows my space is_ sacred_ to me! Oh, heads are going to _roll_ for this!

            Greg and Vince stroll in behind me, and stop short, too.

            "What...?" They look around at all my stuff – their things, conveniently enough, haven't been disturbed. They look at me standing there, looking like I'm about to keel over with shock. They look at each other, wide eyed, and they nod together.

            Then they each take one of my elbows, and lead me silently from the room. I go without protest, feeling numb. I listen vacantly to their mutterings.

            "What d'you think happened?"

            "Dunno – but I'm gonna kick the dung out of whoever did it."

            "Did they take anything?"

            Wait a minute. That one was directed at me. I move my mouth a few times, but nothing comes out.

            "Didn't check." I croak eventually, as I'm sat down in the common room.

            "Okay, Draco..." Vince says, crouching down in front of me, his tone like he's talking to a little child. "What do you want us to do first? Clean up the mess, or find out who did it?"

            "_Clean..._" I say hoarsely. I just can't think straight knowing_ all_ _that untidiness _is up there_._.. I feel all faint again, just imagining it.

            It doesn't take long for them to put everything back – but I still feel horrifically violated. When I go back up there – everything has _moved_, the whole _energy _of the room is different - skewed. Hold on a second. I just sensed something.

            "Something's gone." I say, alarm quickly filling me. "Where's my broomstick?"

            "Uh – it wasn't here." Greg says as I start pacing. "Was it here before?"

            "_Of course it was here before!"_ I screech. I always keep it in my room! Everyone knows the broom cupboard is no place for a broomstick!

            I almost start hyperventilating all over again. I cup my hands over my mouth. "Find out who did this." I order, and it comes out all muffled. "And beat them to within an inch of their life."

            "Right. C'mon Greg." Vince says, and they walk purposely towards the door. When Vince gets there, he turns back to me. "Will you be alright here?"

            "Yes." I say, because a name has just popped into my head. "Yes. I'll be fine."

            Yes, because if the person I'm thinking of is the person that did this, then I want to sort it out on my own this time, for once.

            I stride from our dorm room, filled with a murderous (though very self-righteous) intent. You don't steal another person's broomstick, you just don't. It's just a thing that isn't done, no matter what else is going on. Not even as a prank – everyone must know that.

            Everyone, obviously – except Harry Potter.

* * * *

A/N: Ooooh! I love belly button piercings! And I can so vividly picture Draco having one!

This chapter was kind of a bitch to write (and I can swear like that because this fic is R – therefore you all should be over seventeen), so I'd really appreciate any reviews! Even if you don't think you have anything review-ish to say, just tell me your favourite bit so far, that would boost my spirits!

And also, if you spot any spelling mistakes or random misplaced words or whatever – please tell me so I can replace them! (I don't have a beta). Thanks!


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